


The Winter King and The Summer King/ High King and Forest Lord: At Their Rest The Land Stands Guard

by ghostdreaming



Category: Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms, Merlin (TV), Robin Hood - All Media Types, Song of Sherwood(Poem)
Genre: Alternate Existences, Alternate Realities, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon, Always Good Morgana, Camelot, Hauntings and Ghosts, Hills and Caves That Used To Be Homes, Immortal Heroes, Immortal Merlin, Kind Of Dreamy Because It Actually Came From A Daydream, Magic, Magical Nature, Multi, Past Character Deaths/ Current Temporary Character Deaths, Post-Canon, Sherwood Forest, Song Of Sherwood (Poem) Influenced
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2014-12-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 20:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2634383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostdreaming/pseuds/ghostdreaming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legends still roam the hidden places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Winter King and The Summer King/ High King and Forest Lord: At Their Rest The Land Stands Guard

**Author's Note:**

> I've long loved the haunting poem 'Song of Sherwood' with its reverent vision of the ghosts of Robin Hood and his men and women still present and active in woodland domain.  
> Merlin has been legendarily reported as being( possibly trapped) in both a tree or a cave. Arthur and his knights( and ladies) are by some accounts together in a cave. Arthur and his court are claimed to have been seen riding in ghostly procession on certain nights of Celtic mystic significance.  
> The lines between those who were long ago mortals, gods/ demons, fey/elves, and ghosts was blurred and frequently indistinct in olden times with instances of heavy overlapping amoung the loose definations ( 'Pixies' actually comes from the name of the Picts).

The tree stood alone on the hill. An unplumbible jungle maze in its own right taking up the entirety of the towering mound. In the middle of the old wood growth the ancient and mammoth unearthly relic clutched possessively around the pile of land in a heavy guarding sprawl.

The prehistoric draconian fossiel was not the only hidden secretly protective methusila of the greenwood though. There were also the more coyly modest and less obviously spectacularly overwhelming aged party of time knotted branching trunks and hopelessly tangled bramblings and bush in living barricade about their own prize of special wonder.

The one stood sentry over the remains of a glorious and magnificent castle, with honorable king, knights, and ladies.

The others over equally noble-hearted and fair-minded, if less law-abiding and more rebellious, outlaw gang.

Who's lives were mixes of magic and impossiblilities, mortality and the mundane.

In the summer the echoes of the men, and women, in soft greens and browns are clearer felt by the outsiders passing through. Hardwood staves an bows their signature sileoettes.

In winter sharp red and white prompt the visiting mind. The ringings of metal suits and weaponry sing of rock outlines in battlements' form.

They were of the Fey- yet not. Haunting ghostly souls of people long dead- yet their bodies still worked to heal and one day they would rise again.

Spring and fall, as well as when the solstices' enthrallment waxed, the time drenched forest holds the memories of all.

Heavy and ripe with abounding life.

Light, gentle laughter floated on a floral breeze.

From out of the callused bark of the monster pre-primordial tree an old man took form and emerged his head cocking in the direction of the sound. Tall and thin with a slim snowy beard that flowed down to the ground and past his feet and away, like a river down a mountain-side and off twords the horizon, into the long trailing hem of his indistinguishably colored robes.

Though it was his extrordanarily towering conocal hat that was by far the most outstanding feature of this vistage of him.

He was, as sometimes known, Merlin.

For a moment he remained like that; the trace remains of a tree older than time, a ruin ground to dust, and the shadows left over from the earliest the primitive nights all merged to meet in a human form. But then the sun showed in its ascent. A burst of light new and now. And the greatest wizard/ the most powerful sorcerer reflectively responded with bright youth of his own. Stepping eagerly further forth as one still in years not yet a man but past a child and as fresh as the dew.

The laugh trilled again. She was not of his. But her joy and presence welcome all the same. She was Marion. Maid Marion, Maryon, Mayrine, Marianne, Marian, Marien, May Reiaiyne, May Reign, May Ann, Maiden May, Mu Aye Reiyanne-.....-The Woman of The Wood, The Lady of the Forest, The Lady of Sherwood,-........In some forms she was greater than any deity or evolutionary speculation could dream to aspire. In others she was but the echo of a short less than remarkable life lived rough and violent.....

Her appearance at the moment was of long untamed dark chestnut curls and skin toasted to a shade of lightly varnished wood. loosely garbed in only a single garment fashioned from softened woven vegetation and leather strips. Coils of twisting patterns in shades of black, browns, reds, orange, yellows, greens, blues, and white were vivid etchings flowing across her bare limbs in intermingling tangles and criss-crossing lines She trotted easily and care-free across the arch of a recently fallen timber that lay in the middling zone between their two areas.

Spotting him up on the rise she gestured in greeting but it didn't slow her seeking actions.

Her instincts were like his upon first waking- find the others and the one you follow forever.

Bell-like chiming, high and clear in the breathless hush of nature froze silent, let ring the music of armored knights and horses riding about enmassed none-too far away and nearing.

The breeze that shyly brought the sound ruffled short black hair. The sound was like a physical caress leaving him appearing expressively as though actually being drown by flooding emotions. While also tilting instinctively on the source of the sound like iron drawn to the pull of a close-by lodestone. 

Naturally, in the manner of a kitten or puppy over-focused on the sensations of being petted, the gangly youthful figure overbalanced. Tumbling onto the pillow-y moss and grass shroud in a flurry of scrawny uncooperative limbs.

Scrambling out of his tangle and bouncing back to his feet he was now garbed in a less movement-snaring outfit of trousers and a long-sleeved shirt. Long red neckerchief wrapped in loops about his neck and shoulders.

Those skinny shoulders that were now hunched up in a cringe. But a darting glace showed he need not have worried for the woman was too preoccupied to have noted the stumble.

Enveloped in layers like the seasons and stratas of the planet, of both transparencies and opaqueness', she stood like an anthropomorphicanation of all the ideals that encompassed the definition of forests. And kneeling at her feet and kissing her hem, as they both gazed at one another as though looking upon a most sacred of visions, was the man she had been attempting to find.

This one was more of a presence but less of a sight. The King of the Forests was shadowy for all his, currently, bright features. Like the fierce and cheeky bird he shared names with he radiated lively energy and confidence that belied his near humble appearance. A proud air made it clear that he found no demeanment or dishonor in his playful yet sincere worshiping or in the abrupt way he broke off doing that inorder to pounce upon, and have a rough and tumble roll about the soft earth with, the man in reds as bold and bright as cardinal feathers and holly berries the moment he appeared. Their wresting bout, watched unworriedly in delighted and avid amusement by their lady, was finally derailed by the large man finally showing up and joining their little group and drawing them all into a quiet huddle were they seemed to merge with the surroundings and all but vanish from sight.

"Something over there you would prefer?" The voice Merlin was longing to hear was behind him clear and strong and beautifully real.

Arthur was the light, and glow, and glory, and warmth of the sun.

And Merlin was like a plant eagerly turning twards his presence to bask in his return.

The knights were all there, sparkling silver mail-armor and streaming crimson cloaks, fanned out behind their beloved High King along with the Queens most widely known as Guinevere( garbed in swaths of cloths that were the skys from morning light to dusk) and Morgana( decked in volumes of cloths that were the skys from earliest evening to full morning), everyone safe, alive, whole and healthy, and accounted for.

As well as eager for activity. The horses were shifting restlessly with their riders' impatience and pent up energy.

" Naw, But I needed something to do while I waited didn't I? Seeing as someone was taking their own sweet royal time waking..." Merlin smirked

Arthur's attempt to look stern and offended was entirely ruined by his delighted grin. A grin that turned into a full chuckle in response to the sorcerer's indigent squawk, having not caught the warning of the  mischievous glint in the king's eye, at being unceremoniously plucked off his feet and deposited up on his lord's horse with him 

Morgana laughed, so similar to her brother despite the differences that were mostly the forms of their flesh.   

Gwaine, sensing opportunity, promptly challenged a race to the next hill. 

As one they were off like a shot charging across the countryside.

Bolts of sun-sparkle at dawn....

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave poor Merlin sad and alone all this time?... I don't think so!
> 
> And yes everybody is still un-reborn.  
>  Gwen and Morgana clothes make them look like they are wearing the sky. They Are Not 'sky-clad' a term, that really in my mind should be more accurately called 'air-clad', which is used by certain people to refer to running around 'in the natural state'- in other words buck naked... and that wouldn't have fit the story at all!


End file.
